The Golden Griffin (Book 3) (9 page)

“How do you know?”

“I’m following his trail. It was more difficult earlier. The spell you’d cast on that thief was still in the air and it overwhelmed everything else. Like trying to smell a field of daisies from inside an outhouse.”

Darik blinked. “I had no idea my spell was that strong. In fact, it seemed pretty much faded by the time we passed the battle site.”

“It was plenty strong. What it lacked was subtlety. If the knights hadn’t killed that man—killed him a second time, I mean—it would have stunk on him for two weeks. Come here, let me show you.”

Markal slid from the saddle. Darik grabbed a chunk of hard cheese and a bit of dried crust from the saddlebags, and made his way to Markal’s side. They were on the far side of the stream, in a meadow of wildflowers and knee-high grasses. The instant the two men stepped away, the horses dipped their heads to snatch greedily at the grass.

Markal stopped at a boulder on the edge of the stream. “It’s strongest here. Chantmer must have sat here to eat or meditate. Can you sense it?”

Darik leaned in. He sensed nothing but a rock. “No, I can’t.”

“It’s subtle. Even weakened, almost dead I’d think, Chantmer can hide his trail better than you.” Markal put his hands on Darik’s shoulders and turned him sideways to the boulder, so he could only see it out of the corner of his eyes. “Think gray, like a piece of slate. And something that smells like birch bark. Now close your eyes and open them.”

Darik did as he was told. For a moment he seemed to spot something shimmering on the edge of his vision, catch a scent of birch. Then it was gone.

“There is something there,” he said. “But I never would have found it on my own. You say that’s the strongest place?”

“Strong enough. But remember, I’ve known Chantmer for decades. I know what to look for. There’s another wizard with him. Strong, but impatient. I don’t know him at all. A mage from the sultanates.”

“What’s he doing so far north? And on this side of the mountains?”

“Looking for Chantmer, of course. I could tell more if the trail wasn’t so old.”

“Do we have any chance of catching them?”

“Of course. They’re moving slowly. It’s all Chantmer can manage for now. And assuming they’re trying to get south to Marrabat or Gilgol, they’ve got hundreds of miles to travel. But there’s no wasting time. If we can catch them in the mountains, Narud and I can handle this other wizard. Down in the plains, in the sultanates, maybe not.”

“And the ravagers?”

“I sense them too—they’re also leaving a magic trail. But they’re moving faster than us. Besides, we’re not going to be on the Old Road much longer.”

Darik finished the bread. He broke the cheese in two and handed half to the wizard. “Why didn’t you say all that in the first place? I was riding all night, anxious about ravagers and wondering why we didn’t just send Daria back for some more griffins to fly us where we needed to go.”

“Because we can’t follow the trail from the air.”

“Sure, I see that now. But you didn’t bother to explain.”

“I had to concentrate, at least until we were out of range of your clumsy tracking spell.”

“One thing about traveling with Roderick,” Darik said, “he wasn’t much for secrets. I always knew the plan. So?”

“So . . . what?”

“The plan. You said we’re leaving the Old Road soon. Why?”

“It’s too slow. Now that I know they’re crossing, we can make up some time. We’re going to take a shortcut.”

Darik glanced doubtfully at the mountains, now looming above them. Between the heavily forested lower slopes and the steep, rocky upper reaches, there was no way to cross them except by the road unless they were going to fly.

“Are there griffin riders this far north?”

“We’re not flying on a griffin. Let’s send the horses off.”

“What would possess us to do that? Markal, come on.”

The wizard smiled over his shoulder as he removed the bit from his horse’s mouth and stuffed it and the reins into the saddlebags. “I’m enjoying this.”

“I can tell.”

“Surely you don’t think you’re an expert already? A little swordplay, dabbling in magic. And now you know everything?”

“Well, no. But I can learn just as well without riddles and guesswork.”

Markal leaned in and whispered to the horses in turn, then slapped them each on the rump. They tossed their heads, snorted, then promptly raced back down the road, presumably returning by the wizard’s command to join with the knights in the valley.

Darik stared after them with alarm. “My sword!”

“You won’t need it.”

“The hell I won’t. And my breastplate, too. Not to mention our food. You didn’t even leave us with waterskins.”

“We can’t carry any of it. Only the clothes on our backs.” Markal put a hand on Darik’s shoulder. “Like I said, you have a lot to learn.”

“I know that.” Darik was still irritated about the loss of his weapon.

“The best way to learn is to listen and think. Try to figure things out for yourself before you demand an answer. I know Roderick, and I know how he teaches. Hold your sword like this, charge into battle so. Magic is a more subtle art. Two wizards can hold the same information in their head, speak the same incantation, and it works differently for each one. Ah, here we are.”

A man stepped from the forest. He drew back his hood. Narud.

“What did you see?” Markal asked him.

“A few curious things, but nothing useful.”
“I doubt that. Share it.”

Narud picked an owl feather from his cloak and flicked it away. “I suppose you want to know about the ravagers.”

Markal put his hands on his hips. “Isn’t that why I sent you? Come on, out with it.”

“It’s annoying not to get a straight answer, isn’t it?” Darik asked.

“The ravagers have picked up the pace,” Narud said. “They came upon an encampment of bandits and slaughtered them all, but didn’t bother turning any of them. I think they suspect the knights will be coming after them again and want to get out of Eriscoba to the other side of the Spine before that happens.”

“What about Roderick?” Darik asked. “Is the captain with them?”

“He is.”

“Is he still alive?”

“After a fashion.”

“You mean they turned him?” Darik asked. “We have to stop them.”

Markal shook his head grimly. “There’s nothing you can do, Darik. Narud, what else?”

“I discovered the ruins of an old watch tower I hadn’t seen before. Overgrown with vines and tree roots. There were rodents living in it. I spent some time hunting. Oh, and I overheard the two women and their griffins camping in the woods.” He nodded at Darik. “They were talking about you, boy.”

“Really?” Darik said. “What did they say?”

“Hmm, I don’t remember exactly. Something about how you were unsuited for living in the mountains.”

Darik’s heart fell. He saw Markal watching him and looked away.

“Oh,” Narud continued, “I almost forgot. I saw two dragons fighting. Your griffin riders found a hidden spot to watch. Only I don’t think they knew that there were dragon kin and their wasps watching as well.”

“Are they all right?” Darik asked.

Narud coughed into his hand and shifted from one foot to the other. “I didn’t wait to find out.”

“You could have warned them.”

“I was only an owl, you know. The dragon fight grew too intense. I waited for a lull and flew out of there as fast as I could in the opposite direction.”

“You’re right,” Markal grumbled. “That was nothing useful. I can’t believe you didn’t stick around or warn the riders. Or something. They count you as a friend.”

“I am their friend. But I was also an owl. There was only so much I could do.”

Markal threw up his hands. “By the Brothers, we wouldn’t even have known about this if we hadn’t pried it out of you. Is there anything else? You didn’t spot the dark wizard at the head of ten thousand men or anything, right?”

“I don’t think so.” Narud got a far-off look and plucked at his beard. “No, no, I’m certain.”

Markal sighed and gave Darik a look. Can you believe I have to deal with this?

“You see?” Darik said. “Sometimes all you want is a straight answer to a straight question.”

“All right, all right,” Markal said. “You want answers, you’ll get them. Here is why I sent the horses off with your sword and the supplies. We’re going right over that mountain. It will cut a day and a half off our journey.”

He pointed to one of the lower mountains to the east. Lower yes, but still plenty intimidating. The rare tree or clump of brush clung to the mountainside, but for the most part it was a rocky, boulder-strewn escarpment. Nobody could climb that way.

Narud coughed. He covered his mouth, then bent over, hacking like he was choking on something.

Markal slapped him on the back. “Come on. Get it out.”

A final cough from Narud, then he spit something onto the ground. It was a slimy mass of bones and feathers. A mouse skull poked out one side.

Narud straightened and wiped at his mouth. “Yech.”

“Next time, try to spit up your pellets before you change back,” Markal said.

Suddenly, Darik understood. A thrill raced down his spine. “Oh, I understand.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Markal said. “You’re not flying over the top, if that’s what you’re hoping. That’s too much magic for you, and a bird brain is far too different from your own. For your first time, you might not be able to change back again.” He gave Narud the side eye. “Although, come to think of it, some people always find the transition challenging.”

Narud didn’t seem to notice the insinuation. He stared up at the mountain slope. “Mountain goats. That’s what we need.”

Darik couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re going to turn me into a goat?”

“You’re going to turn yourself,” Markal said. “Or try, anyway.”

“What is the final bit of the incantation for mountain goat?” Narud asked his fellow wizard. “Caverus?”

“Cabiris,” Markal said without hesitation. “Caverus is the other kind of goat. Haven’t you done a mountain goat before?”

“Sure, dozens of times. How about you?”

“Never.”

“Ah, well, it’s a good thing you remembered. That would have been inconvenient to turn into a billy goat up here. There are wolves around.”

“Wolves?” Darik said. “That sounds dangerous no matter what kind of goat you’re talking. How about mountain lions? They could climb that, couldn’t they?”

The other two wizards ignored him. Narud threw his cloak over his shoulder and lifted his right hand. “Cabiris, you say? Good. Novum lycanthus cabiris.”

Even as he said the incantation, Markal was jumping in to interrupt. “Wait, not yet. I need to tell the boy—oh, bother. Do you have to be so impatient?”

Narud dropped to his knees.

“Nothing to be done for it now,” Markal told Darik. “Pay attention. Watch the transformation if you can.”

But that was impossible because suddenly Darik found his attention dragged elsewhere. He wanted to search the trees for bandits or wolves, to look back at the stream, to see if the nearby bushes had any berries.

When he glanced back, Narud was gone and a gray goat stood in front of him. It had spiraled horns, a beard, and sharp-looking hooves. It trotted into the brush on the side of the road and disappeared.

“You weren’t watching, were you?” Markal said.

“I tried. Where did his cloak go?”

“It became his pelt.”

“So we won’t come out the other side naked?”

“No.”

“Then what about my sword? Couldn’t I have turned it into one of my horns or something?”

“Not at your skill level,” Markal said. “We’ll be lucky if we can pull it off at all.”

“Then you could have carried it. And the food, too.”

“No, I couldn’t have. I’m not that good at this either. Besides, we won’t need food. Goats eat everything—twigs, bark, grass. We’ll get all the food we need.”

“Yum.”

“You remember the words?”

Novum lycanthus cabiris.

“I do.”

“Good, because we don’t have much time. Narud is hard enough to manage in human form. As a goat, forget it. He’ll be long gone in about five minutes.”

As he said this, Markal pulled something from his sleeve and set it on the road. To Darik’s surprise, it was Memnet the Great’s glass orb.

“You’re just going to leave it there?”

Markal fixed him with a hard look. “You can ask questions later. Now do what I say. Your best magic flows through your dominant hand, so lift your right hand, palm out.”

Darik did as he was told.

“Perfect, now we’ll need everything you’ve got. This is no sleazy little tracking spell, this is deep magic. Here’s how to draw it. Think of that moment when you approached the Sanctuary Tower, how you felt. When you’ve got that memory fixed, think of your devotion to your khalifa. You love Kallia and would give your life to defend her and your people against the enemy, right?”

“Of course.”

“Now think of Roderick falling into the hands of the ravagers. He was your captain, and you had fought at his side all summer. How did that make you feel?”

As Darik considered these things, his hand grew warm and his head light. He felt like he could float out of his skin. A smile spread across Markal’s face as he studied Darik, and he nodded.

“Now. Speak the words.”

“Novum lycanthus cabiris.”

Darik’s right hand felt like it was on fire, but the sensation was quickly overwhelmed by the cracking, breaking pain in his feet and legs. It felt as though a dozen men were pounding at his bones with hammers. He collapsed with a cry of agony. His clothing melted, burned into his skin.

Markal winced. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you. The first time in any new form is uncomfortable.”

“Do something!” Darik begged.

“Nothing to do but fight it out. It will be over in a second. Hold on.”

Sweat poured down Darik’s face. He was on the verge of passing out. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was over. The pain in his legs turned to a dull ache, then faded entirely. He grew stronger with every gasp.

His right hand was withered and throbbing, but he was still a man. Only his cloak and tunic had disappeared, leaving him shirtless in the cool mountain air.